Call it Home
by tamatoe
Summary: He had always viewed humans with disdain, but this one, she just unsettles him. /"You're cold, Mr. Sun," she says. Yes, well, that was kind of the point./
1. Chapter 1

He had always viewed humans with disdain, but this one, she just unsettles him. /"You're cold, Mr. Sun," she says. Yes, well, that was kind of the point./

* * *

They were born to kneel at his feet, Loki thinks, convinces himself, even when the old man stands, and the monkey striped man attacks him. Humans were born to kneel, and no matter how many centuries pass, how many generations are stripped down, they will always kneel to the likes of him. -_to the likes of a nobody, but it's fine, because he's not human, and that is enough, he should think-_

In all honesty, he does not understand the appeal. Thor is gone for a few days, and comes back a stranger. All thanks to a mortal wench, and the thought makes his lips twist into a sneer. They stick him in a flying castle, eying him with open hostility and no amount of tact.

He smiles with sharp white teeth, and wrinkles around his _blueblue_ eyes. Fury turns, scowling. Loki glances at the camera, smirks. Big _brother -_he sneers- is watching, and he needs to know Loki is fine without him, will burn Asgard and renew it under his harsh visionary. Vaguely, he wonders if Thor had a choice, who he would pick.

_But, he already chose, didn't he Laufeyson?_

His smile is starting to hurt his cheeks.

…

Really, was there any chance? Did Loki dare hope, dare think, dare even try, to commandeer a planet that he held no sentimental interest in in the first place? Did he think that he could hurt Thor's precious little mortals, mortals he was _only trying to help._ (Maybe he's harsh, and cold, and downright rude, but really, did they expect anymore? They were just humans.)

"_You can't kill an entire race!"_ An irate expression becomes him, makes him cold, and he rubs his temple absentmindedly. Thor's hurt, and shouting, is providing a heavy headache. Loki closes his eyes for a brief moment, allows himself the weakness. He remembers words of poison, and _we all mourned _and _come home brother._

Thor burns Loki, but Loki remembers the Chitauri, the simpering sneers, threats behind sharp teeth, and makes up his mind.

There is always a choice, but Loki is selfish and cold, and no one's son. Is it really a surprise it came to this?

"Puny god," the beast snarls, and Loki starts at the pain. He is left, indented in the floor, and he closes his eyes. A hysterical giggle, softened by a painful groan.

Really, was there ever any chance?

…

Thor offers the Tesseract, as if it were a choice, and Loki accepts easily. Smiling makes him bleed in his cage.

"Brother," Thor starts, does not finish. Loki regards Thor with a contemptuous look, tongue still. He finds it funny that Loki's mouth is caged, and yet Thor is tongue-tied.

"Brother," Thor says, and Loki almost sighs. The misnomer is so common on Thor's tongue it is starting to lose value, meaning. Thor cannot finish his statement, and Loki does not look up when the door closes behind the thunder god.

Later, Loki will be released back to Midgard, without Thor's knowledge, and Odin will gaze on, unfaltering, grim, and Loki will laugh and laugh and laugh.

"Loki, my son-" Loki sobers, "you have only ever been that to me, Loki. But, you pose too much of a threat here (_no one wants to gaze upon your face)_, and you deliberately disobeyed me. Consequences will always follow you."

"Yes," Loki agrees, "being born is the one sin I've ever committed to _you_, isn't it, All-father?"

Why would Odin care for such mortals? He is looking for an excuse, Loki gathers, sneers. It is becoming a common expression.

"Think about what you've done," Odin says simply, and Loki barely has time to blink, before he is struck. He tumbles away with nothing but the stars as company. His thoughts turn to Mother, and he banishes the thought, and the feeling that accompanies it. She is no mother of his _-because out of all this, you wished her image went unscathed,_ although the argument is weak in his head.

* * *

He wishes he landed in the middle of nowhere, _alone,_but he always did have such unfortunate luck.

He wakes up to gray eyes and warm fingers prodding his face. He smacks them away, moves to sit up, tongue curling around an obtuse comment. He stills when she frowns slightly, blinking, before straightening. His eyes trail her carefully, suspicion and disgust twisting his lips.

He has only ever found humans useless, pointless, and he hates it. He examines the dwelling he is in, dull shabby walls, ugly stained window. The only thing notable are the eccentric items scattered around the room, sticks and over-turned stones, a still wind chime, bright objects. Notable, but not appealing.

She returns with a grin that's not all there, hands cupped around a glass.

"You're very thirsty, aren't you, Mr. Sun?" He narrows his eyes at the name, but does not immediately dump the glass over her head when she puts it in his hands.

"You were baking in the sun," the girl sighs, lifting her head to stare out the window. In her distraction, Loki leans in to sniff the drink.

"It's quite alright," the girl is smiling, "It's just milk." Her eyes turned wide, dreamy. "Have you never had milk?" The horror in her voice unsettles him.

"Don't be daft," he snaps, and is tempted to smash the glass against the floor in a poor show of etiquette as Thor was so prone to do. He supposes he never fixed in with that lot. But he is thirsty, so he sips the drink, and doesn't comment on why she didn't offer plain water instead.

He sets the glass on the night table beside him, falters when he catches the eye of the girl in the picture. She smiles, waves, dangling her fingers teasingly. Sorcery, Loki thinks, but abandons the notion. Loki is well aware of the technology Midgard has, knows of moving pictures, but he did not take it literally.

"Oh, are you a wizard, Mr. Sun?" the girl says, pads over to his side.

"Wizard?" he repeats softly, narrows his eyes when the girl in the picture seems to walk out of the frame.

"Silly me," the girl laughs, "I suppose I should have covered that when I brought you in. Would of been much trouble if you were a Muggle."

"Oh?" Loki says, turns to her.

"Oh, yes," the girl says, seriously, "I would've had to fix your brain, and no one likes that."

A threat? Loki ponders, suspicious when the girl extends a hand.

"Luna Lovegood," Luna says, tilting her head to the side. The sun heats her hair to a bright glow, and Loki blinks. "And you are, mister? Or did I guess correctly?"

"I am curious as to how you came by 'Mr. Sun'," Loki announces, does not take her hand. She does not show a reaction, merely retracts her hand.

"You were muttering about suns in your sleep," Luna says, and Loki pales. Luna notices, asks him if he needs more milk.

"No," Loki says, annoyed, eyes scuttling to the view outside. Dust clings to the window, Loki notes with disgust.

"The Nargles are at it again," Luna says, following his eyes. "They do get so worked up, nowadays."

Loki does not ask. Luna smiles, and Loki looks away.

* * *

Sorcery, Loki comes to learn, is not reserved for better species. Rather, it expands to even human grasps. It is only luck, then, that he meets the strangest of them all, and not entirely sane either. Sometimes, she is so blunt in nature he wonders if she is trying to be vague. It is not a concept he wishes to understand. He grows accustomed to it anyways.

The way she looks beyond his shoulder at things not seen, dare he say, doesn't exist. Her credibility dwindles every day. Still, she is useful, provides a room for him, so he stays, and tries not to be a nuisance (although Lovegood can be annoying to the point of suicidal the way she speaks to him). He demanded more attention than any nonexistent beast, he'd like to think.

She still does not know his name. His real name. He grudgingly accepts 'Mr. Sun.' The title is not degrading, although from her tongue, he can't be sure.

The dwelling is located in the middle of nowhere, he notes with detached amusement, and his wish did come true, just not the 'alone' part. All is well, he supposes, it wouldn't be good to wake up in a sun-baked desert without any resources.

"How do you grow herbs?" Loki is asking, bored, lounging in a rocking chair under the shade of the roof. She looks up from where she is tending an ugly green looking plant, and mulls over the question. The lion hat and sunglasses make her look ridiculous, and Loki enjoys the view, smirk drawing under his palm. He always did like being superior.

"Magic," she says, and Loki dismisses the simple answer.

"Of course," he drawls, "Magic solves everything."

"You're a wizard. Wouldn't you agree?"

Loki does not answer, zaps a buzzing fly from his ear. His magic is crippled, and Luna stares at him curiously -_ignorant girl, it's not fair, that she have magic at her disposal, and he didn't, not fair, injustice, unfair, he should steal it._ Her eyes are distracted again, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

Loki decides mortal magic will not suit him, and if Luna asks him why he's outside ("Mr. Sun, I admire the attention, but if you aren't going to help, I suggest going inside. Your skin is peeling red.") he will smile cryptically, say, "Magic."

She is bemused, but it's only fair.

* * *

**A/N: **It had to be done, it did. Wrote this while waiting for something, cough. Will probably continue this, since this relationship intrigues me so. Reviews would be adored! :)

**2/3/13: Brushed away some minor grammatical errors, mostly involving dashes. Changed last sentence to make it flow easier. Will update soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

There comes a day when the sun does not reach the house. Its stretches are pathetic, barely even glancing over the garden. Loki watches with a twist in his lips and he thinks he can grow used to this arrangement, because the sun burns just by existing here. It's warm in Asgard, where the sun peels off in small layers, but here the sun is obnoxious, just like its captives, burning and burning like the biggest supernova.

Is it flattery when she calls him Mr. Sun? That would already suggest some form of superiority, he's sure, even for her. Maybe he'll ask her. He turns back to the kitchen, where the pans wash themselves with cheery note, and there are eggs crack themselves open like hands don't exist.

Luna is pouring over some washed out newspaper, or book, or something entirely insignificant, hair fanning around her like a halo. He waits, for some indiscernible reason he did not want to disturb _her _when that's the only thing she does with his life. Intrudes and invades until Nargles don't seem so bad, which is very bad thinking. With that in mind, he walks up to her, until his breath parts her hair and she finally looks up.

Her smile poisons him, sickening really, with its sweetness and cheerfulness and it's very familiar for the same reasons it's not. He remembers when someone directing a warm grin at him was not uncommon, but let the past die will you?

"There aren't even words on the page," he notes, and she looks down, back up.

"Well, of course Mr. Sun. That is the beauty of it. Has no one ever read you picture books?" she says, fingers branched out and pressed on the color, as if to emphasize its 'beauty'.

"No," he answers lightly, carefully now in case she goes off on a tangent, as she always does, "Can't say they have." See, he always read for himself like a full able-bodied intelligent being. What do the humans get up to nowadays?

"It's actually quite nice on the eyes," she says, and has the nerve to take his arm to pull him closer. He indulges her for now, let her think she had any real power here.

She turns the book to the beginning and dusts out the title. _Red Riding Hood._

Ah, so there are words. Very dull words, mind, and too big, taking up the whole page but he supposes that is its deluded charm.

"It's a Muggle fairytale, and I find myself fascinated with it more than I should, but they do have such lovely imagination sometimes."

"Yes," he agrees absentmindedly, "Continue." He will find out what those Muggles she mumbles about are later.

She continues, and vibrant colors speak to him, whispers a story about treachery in the form of the wolf and ends entirely too thick of happy endings. Perhaps he is only jealous?

No. She closes the book cheerfully, grinning up at him with jewels in her eyes, and he entertains the thought of ripping them out. His _mother_ always said he had a penchant for strange thoughts, but his tongue always made them pretty, something they're not.

"One day, you'll talk the moon out of the sky," _Mother_ had murmured, and considering she wove prophecies like a love potion, she did not look very pleased by it, but the compliment was said and his ego has never been the same.

"Did anyone ever tell you you have lovely eyes?" He smiles, sharp and soft like the glint of a blade dried in the sun.

"Can't say they have," she echoes drily, and glances at him with something akin to suspicion. So she did have some self-preservation in her. Good, it's never fun without it.

"They're like jewels, as if I could mine them out and keep them forever," he says, voice soft and soothing.

"Are you asking for permission?" she asks, because she might be human but she's not stupid and you should always talk with caution with a God of Mischief, not that she realizes this. Magic has been known to breed thinkers (for the same reason it does not).

"Of course not," he waves it away because he does not acknowledge losing.

"Anyhow," she says brightly, throwing the threat to the wind, "An old friend's visiting. Look decent, alright?"

"I manage," he quips, and sharpens again. An old friend?

"An old friend of yours?" he says and she nods. Odd. The light filters through the window, shifting and twisting, and he never realizes when the sun reaches them. Inside the house is like a charm, he never burns in here.

The fireplace burns abruptly, as if someone lit a match, and he's never seen fire so green. Soot churns out with orange hair, bright as the sun. He finds himself recoiling more than politeness calls for. Fire burns in her hair as well as her eyes, which give him a second look once they meet him. He draws himself up to the silent challenge.

"Ginny!" Luna says, capturing the other woman (and he wonders what makes Luna a girl and that woman a woman) in a hug. Perhaps because the woman is sharper, dangerous and shiny. Luna is softer, nicer to look at too, he thinks.

"Hey Luna," Ginny replies, "What have you been up to?" Her eyes dance to his momentarily.

"Oh, the same. I want you to meet Mr. Sun, he's staying with me for now," Luna says, gesturing to him.

"Mr. Sun?" Skepticism drips from her tone. He smirks.

"Nice to meet your acquaintance," he murmurs, voice smooth and low so as to not upset her, which is pointless because she's already stirring.

"I'm still wondering if that applies to me," she says drily, measuring him. "What exactly are you doing here, Mr. Sun?"

"The same old," he says with a playful grin.

"He's very smart," Luna tests, because she's vague and careful and at the same time, not. "He helps with my magic."

"Oh really? For some reason, I was getting a Squib feeling," Ginny says, and somehow he feels the insult. Luna blinks, because a Squib is worse than a Muggle in Magic's eyes.

"It's not a wonder a person like you would think that," he answers easily, white teeth caught on his lip as he smirks. She burns red with insult, and opens her mouth to retort before Luna waves her arms about, trying to soothe the situation.

"Why don't we go outside? You said you'd help with the garden, remember?" Luna says and Ginny falters, as if she had forgotten Luna was even there.

"Yes of course," she answers vaguely.

"I'll stay inside, if you don't mind," he says.

Luna stares at him, like _yes I do mind_, but only smiles. She tends to do that. Outside, they talk in hushed tones. Well the woman does, Luna has no care for privacy in her own world and talks as if she wanted Loki to hear. Maybe.

The woman is suspicious of him, with good reason, but Luna doesn't care much for reason or logic.

"He fell out of the sky. What am I supposed to do with him, throw him back to the clouds?" she queries, genuinely interested in the other woman's answer.

"If that's necessary," Ginny answers tightly, and turning away when she sees him waving in the window.

"You overestimate my abilities," Luna laughs. "Magic doesn't work that way Ginny. Sure, it answers to the wand, but ultimately Magic is his own man. Unpredictable, predictable, it's all the same."

Interesting evaluation, he muses, flexing his fingers and watching the distorted spark there. His magic is recovering. In his distraction, he doesn't notice Ginny leaving Luna and entering the house until the steps hover near him.

"Yes?" he says casually, waiting for her.

"Listen," she says, and he finally looks up to her hard eyes, very ugly jewels he's certain, "I've had my share of petty geniuses and they're just as, if not more, prettier than you. I know your lot like the back of my hand. You don't realize this, but Luna is dangerous. So try to leave, or else you'll find yourself stuck in this place until wrinkles dot your face."

Ginny's eyes softens. "She has that effect on people. It creeps up on you."

Loki listens with an attentive ear before blinking. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a warning," she says.

"For you?" He raises an eyebrow.

"From me," she corrects and sighs. "Look, Luna isn't bad but she's just as dangerous. I already hate you, but not enough to subject you to this."

"This?" he repeats. "I thought you friends."

"Weare," she says, and he hears an unheard _imbecile_, "but you aren't, so I suggest leaving before you find the thought of leaving abhorrent. She has that effect."

Loki almost smiles. "I can fight my own battles, but I'm glad you care for me so to warn me, lovely."

"Git," she says, almost fondly as if she thought him someone else. "I'm leaving now, think about what I said, and tell Luna bye for me." She leaves in a flash of green.

Vaguely, he wonders if he could try to follow her. Although it seems she mutters some incantation before she actually goes anywhere. Odd, he'll ask Luna for tips. With that thought, he remembers Ginny's words ringing in his ear. He entertains the thought of giving them serious thought, but waves it away.

When Luna enters, he sits up and tells her about what Ginny said, just to watch her face, see her reaction. He does love seeing relationships crumble so. Luna listens with a fond smile.

"You'll have to forgive Ginny for that," Luna says, "She worries about me, and she has an odd way of showing it." _Just like you_, he thinks.

"Sometimes, I think," she says, "She forgets I fought in the same war, beside her, spilled the same blood. War does that to you. Changes your thinking."

He stills at the odd subject. War is uncomfortable.

"It doesn't matter now. What's done is done," she says, and moves to start dinner. "I'm sure your friends have odd ways of showing they care too." He notices her watching him closely.

"Friend," he corrects, "And I killed him a long time ago."

"You killed your only friend?"

"The word, not the man," Loki says lightly, lips curling into a sneer. She ponders over that, before answering.

"You have a wily tongue," Luna says, turning to light a fire, "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Multiple times," he says, and finds no pleasure from it. (_Liar, it's your only redeemable trait. The only useful one._)

He helps her cook with bursts of magic. He doesn't realize it, but the thought of leaving is a distant, faded memory. Inside, he knows it is a dream he will never entertain, because leaving means no moon, and he didn't talk it out of the sky for nothing.

* * *

**A/N:** If anyone's wondering, which I doubt they are, Luna=Moon in multiple languages including but not limited to Spanish because that's the only one I remember. The more you know. Anyways, sorryforthelongwait yadayada, but yeah that will probably happen again, but the next chapter _should_ bring back some characters from Loki's side, so yay! Fun! Thank you for reading, reviews would be adored! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Loki, with all his broken metaphors and half-empty threats, cannot fathom Luna Lovegood. She is a maze of contradictions and complexity that shift with every breath, and Loki finds it is best not to predict anything from her. Perhaps that is the only expectation he can still hold.

"It's Sunday," Luna says, and he hums in reply. When he looks up a few minutes later, Luna is staring outside the window, almost waiting.

"What about Sundays?" Loki asks softly, and recalls the past Sundays. They are not anymore special than the other days, just time to kill. Luna tilts her head to the side.

"My mother died on a Sunday," she murmurs, and her face is suddenly sharp as a blade, and he watches as the innocence becomes a shade darker (_she was never innocent when you met her, no, no, the light was different that day)_. The moment disappears as abruptly as it came, and she glances to him, something like concern marring her brow.

"Forgive me," she says, gray eyes dimming, "Sometimes the air messes with my head."

Loki offers a smirk, leaning back into the chair he was lounging on.

"If it's any consolation," he says, tapping his fingers on the armrest, "my parents died the moment I was born."

Luna contemplates the information, before shaking her head. "Sometimes, Mr. Sun, I fear your words confuse me more than what they should be doing."

Loki raises an eyebrow and replies, "And what's that?"

"Explaining," Luna shrugs, like she's not talking to a fallen god, "Conveying meaning. Your meanings are cluttered by your words, until they don't mean anything at all."

Luna looks back to the window, pursing her lips before continuing. "I admire your ability to control words, I do. But, what is the use of words if you do not use them for what they were created for?"

And in that moment, he swears Luna is made of truth, of everything he is not (or should not be), because the truth hurts, and her words make him so angry. Loki has always used his words carefully, with care and self-destruction, because oh, everyone knows he's lying, lied, will lie, what is the point? They will not believe him anyways. But words were his friend before magic, his master before before before, and what does this little mortal woman know? Absolutely nothing.

But that is the point. He is offered a clean slate with Luna, to be judged and unjudged because she knows nothing of his past crimes, of his past life. And she still condemns him (or maybe he is just being overdramatic), and it hurts more than his pride will admit.

"I'm sorry," Luna is saying now, and Loki does not realize he has been gripping his armrest with more force than necessary. He straightens immediately. "I've upset you."

"Well, yes," Loki says after a pregnant pause, "anyone would be." He narrows his eyes at her briefly, considering his next words. "I am very old, Luna (the word sounds better echoed in his mind), don't let appearances fool you." He cannot help if it sounds, vaguely, like a threat.

"My words are centuries ahead of yours. Make no mistake of that. I can't say I'm not insulted, but do not fool yourself into thinking your words are worth much to me."

If Luna is hurt, she certainly doesn't show it. Instead, her eyes are lit with wonder, like a curtain has lifted in her foggy mind.

"Old?" She queries, and she scrutinizes him. "Well, yes, I suppose there is something there in the eyes."

He laughs. She lets him, waiting patiently. When he finally quiets, she speaks up. "What was that about your parents?"

Loki smirks, and he supposes it will not hurt to tell this mortal of _real _stories, not like ones that end with happy pigs and the empty threats of a long lost friend. He beckons her closer, and she obliges, pulling over a stool to sit beside him. He tells her stories of two brothers (or once-was-brothers), of an all-seeing king, and a beautiful mother, and the monster that hid within them all. He tells her about the theory of two births. The first breath you take, and your last (to be born again, because the world will call upon you again and again, and you will stand up with a bullet in your chest, to say your lines and do your part). Loki's was not a happy role in this legend, not at all.

His is a lie. And he stopped breathing Loki Odinson the moment the truth presented itself in a stolen object from another realm. A stolen relic. His parents died (in his eyes) the moment he was born again, as Loki the son of No One, because Laufey will not accept him, and Allfather will not let him go as anything but what he made Loki for. Or so he tells himself.

Luna listens with child-like attentiveness, sometimes staring at him with such intensity he almost falters, or is distracted by the mere rattling of something outside the house. When he finishes the tale, her eyes snap back to him.

"But that's not how it ends," she protests.

"So you were listening," he mutters drily.

"I'm a good listener," Luna says, "and that's not how it ends. You still need to fall from the sky."

"Hm," Loki waves her away, "I've grown bored." Luna frowns, but doesn't say anything as he moves away to the kitchen.

There is a storm outside the window. Loki can feel it in his bones, the anger and the injustice and all the emotions that usually accompany a storm. He tries to banish the thought, it would not do good to imagine things that were not there, or hope someone would and would not be there. He moves from his lounging position in bed, stretches, and moves into the living room to find Luna with one ear pressed against the door.

He stills, watching her for a few moments, and when she doesn't acknowledge him, speaks. "What, exactly, are you doing?"

"Listening," she answers.

"Obviously," he drawls. "What for?"

"Something. Someone. I don't know, Loki (and ah, there it is, he was wondering if she'd use it)-" She pauses, and glances towards him. When he doesn't show any reaction to his name she continues.

"I've been listening for awhile. I can feel something coming. Not unlike when you came."

"When I came?" he echoes, barely a whisper.

"Yes," she murmurs, distractedly, and stands up, hand reaching for the doorknob. He stops her, yanks her back. She stares at him, bemused.

"Apologies," he says, and doesn't mean it, lets her go. She rubs her wrist with a curious expression. Her eyes soften.

"Fear is what keeps us alive, for all the sames reasons it kills us," she says, and reaches for him. He lets her. "It depends on which one you choose, Mr. Sun."

He twitches at his other name, and doesn't call her out on her assumption. He is not afraid. He's not. (He's such a horrible liar, how did they believe him. Oh right. They didn't).

The doorbell rings. And rings. And rings. Almost like someone was pounding on the doorbell, not that he was aware Luna had one. From Luna's face, it seemed like she forgot about it as well. She hesitates, before rushing forward and opening the door. Rain rushes in and the crack of thunder is louder.

Outside, a man in a suit of armor is tapping his foot. When the door opens, the face plate retracts, and bright eyes meet his own.

"I thought I saw something," Stark says, teeth white in his wide smile.

For a fleeting moment, he wonders if it would have been better to die a (false) good man, but a good man none the less because that's how all heroes think. The other reality turns to figures before his eyes, a world without destruction, without mutilation, without poison snaking across his skin. Oh, it would not be so hard, would it? If he had but avoided that one Frost Giant, just the one, and got himself a blade stuck in his chest, he wouldn't have to know. But Loki cannot lie to himself, and the truth was sewn into his heart since birth.

The world fades, like all cherished dreams do. (Besides, Luna isn't in that one, is she?)

* * *

**A/N:** Progress! (maybe?) Reviews will be adored! If I forgot to reply or replied twice to a review, I'm sorry! Just tell me, or something if you want, cause I get confused. :)

**EDIT:** **Chapter might be a little more confusing. Please leave questions if you need clarification for something. :)**


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